This
is
the first time, and most likely to be the last, that the term
“singles bar” finds its way into the pages of this publication. Not
that I would disparage those establishments that have built a
reputation on their ability to encourage the personal relationships of
unattached Americans, it’s just that I much prefer to use a bar as a
place to deepen my already committed relationship to those single
beauties of Scottish heritage. And no bar in all of New York does a
finer job of enriching that long-standing relationship than Keens
Steakhouse.

I was
first introduced to this venerable old Herald Square landmark in
the early 1980s by a friend who shared my enthusiasm for single-malt
Scotch whisky. Back then Keens offered approximately 40
of the
Caledonian purebreds, today that number has grown to over two hundred,
a true testament to this enduring edifice which was slated for
demolition in 1977. But thanks to the Herculean efforts of restaurateur
George Schwarz, and his late wife, artist Kiki Kogelnik, Keenswas
spared the effects of the city’s financial woes, which had already seen
far too many of New York’s revered neighborhood watering holes fall
victim to the torch and wrecking ball. Not only had the architectural
beauty and details of this historic chophouse been preserved, but so
would be a tradition unique to this part of the “New World.”

Around the turn of the twentieth century, Keensadopted an English
custom that may have had its roots as far back as the reign of Queen
Elizabeth. During the 17th century, the subjects of the Crown chose the
churchwarden as the preferred means by which to indulge their love of
tobacco. Unfortunately, these delicate long stemmed clay pipes would
prove to be far too fragile for the rigors of travel by horse and
coach. So it became a common practice to check one’s pipe at one’s
favorite public house. And there a so-called “pipe warden” would be
entrusted with the cataloging, care and storage of each gentleman’s
smoking apparatus. Thus was the case at Keens. And during the early
years of the Pipe Club, it would not have been unusual to see those who
had plied their craft on the stages around the once thriving Herald
Square Theater District sneaking away for a pint and a puff in between
acts.

Today, for better or for worse, the air has been cleared of the sweet
tang of burning tobacco, but the pipes remain, as do the spirit and
memories of those over ninety-thousand souls that have checked their
churchwardens at this beloved Manhattan institution. Among them were
the likes of George M. Cohan, General Douglas Mac Arthur, Albert
Einstein, Will Rogers, Babe Ruth and Teddy Roosevelt. And while it is
no longer fashionable to burn a bowl of aromatic blends in public—at
least at Keensone can always relive a
bit of America’s rich past while
enjoying one of those splendid singular pleasures derived in part from
the smoking embers of Scottish peat.